


A Night In The Gorge

by SaintEpithet



Series: Lovecraft meets Westeros - Dark Corners of the Known World [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arctic Horror, Book: The World of Ice and Fire, Don't copy to another site, Elsewhere Fic, Gen, Horror, Mystery, Other: See Story Notes, POV First Person, Pre-Canon, Suspense, The Night's Watch (ASoIaF), Westwatch-by-the-Bridge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintEpithet/pseuds/SaintEpithet
Summary: Life is tedious and lonesome at Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, the westernmost castle of the Night's Watch. The sighting of fires in the Gorge promises diversion to the rangers, and so they set out for the unknown in a dark, stormy night.
Series: Lovecraft meets Westeros - Dark Corners of the Known World [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1374721
Comments: 30
Kudos: 12





	1. Act I

It was the morning after I had said my vows between the heart trees in the Haunted Forest when I first doubted my decision to take the black. A strange notion, I know. Most men don't get a say in the matter. I did, after a fashion, but it doesn't mean I had much of a choice.

At seventeen years of age I had no family left, no talents to speak of, and Mole's Town was all I had seen of the world. When winter came, work for unskilled tunnel urchins like me dwindled. The fields around Mole's Town didn't need harvest helpers, repairs on the surface buildings had been completed by autumn's end. I had no place to stay and didn't know how to keep myself fed. Taking the black seemed like the obvious answer to my troubles. The Watch would house, feed, and clothe me – and should things not go well, it would be better to die among brothers than all alone. I had often admired the comraderie when the black brothers from Castle Black visited Mole's Town, and I had listened to their stories about rangings in the wild lands north of the Wall. I knew about the harsh training recruits had to endure, but it struck me as a fair price for the things the Night's Watch offered. And so I paid it. I endured. I said my vows and I meant every word.

The next day, the Lord Commander summoned the newly sworn in brothers to the courtyard. I was thrilled – although not surprised - to be assigned to the rangers. According to the master-at-arms I lacked finesse with a sword, but was skilled enough with clubs, maces, and other blunt weapons. The same couldn't be said for most of the other recruits. Only two out of the batch I had trained with showed any promise in this regard, therefore the remainder was split up between the builders and stewards. I was elated and eager to do my duty – until I was brought back to the ground with a jolt. I would not stay at Castle Black, the Lord Commander explained, as Westwatch-by-the-Bridge was in dire need of new rangers.

Westwatch-by-the-Bridge. The westernmost castle of the Night's Watch. My heart sank when he said it. I wouldn't be sharing stories of rangings with my friends in Mole's Town every once in a while. Why couldn't it be Queensgate or Deep Lake at least? Why did it have to be the lonliest, most isolated place in the entire North?

The notion was shared by my two fellow rangers although both turned to more drastic measures than me. Before our party departed for Westwatch, Hullen, the poacher from Coldwater, had slipped and broken his leg, and was therefore unable to travel. Orney, a brigand who used to raid the lands around Deepwood Motte, couldn't be found anywhere the next day. Nobody had seen him in the barracks, and there were conflicting opinions whether he had been on guard duty that night.

The Lord Commander's eyes betrayed stoic disappointment when he told me I'd set out for Westwatch alone. He all but said that Hullen's fall was probably not the 'unfortunate accident' the man claimed it had been, but a self-inflicted predicament that allowed him to stay at Castle Black. Orney's name was not mentioned, and there was no need for that. I had heard that scouts were scouring the surroundings since his absence had been discovered. It needed no further explanation. And so I departed with a much smaller party, resigned to my fate. Four builders bound for Stonedoor, a steward for the Shadow Tower, one seasoned ranger to guide us on the long way.

﴾ _____________________________________________________________________________________ ﴿

Westwood-by-the-Bridge was everything I had imagined it to be, and the journey had left me much time to imagine. The castle was sad and sullen, its population merely a quarter of Castle Black's, and the most excitement of the past months had been the visit of a fur trader from Bear Island. However, my welcome was warmer than expected. The black brothers of Westwatch were starved for diversions to break their bleak routine. New stories – no matter how mundane - were worth more than gold here, and I had plenty to tell from my youth in Mole's Town.

At Castle Black the veterans had felt a constant need to assert themselves. They had belittled the new recruits and kept them at an arm's length, regardless how well they performed their tasks or followed instructions. Westwatch was different when it came to that. Commander Coryn Stone – a tall, burly man twice my age – made that evident on the evening after my arrival. Unlike the Lord Commander at Castle Black, Coryn Stone didn't eat in his chambers. He shared a table with his men in the great hall, and he invited me to join him right away. At the time, it struck me as a welcoming and companionable gesture. Later, I suspected he excercised his prerogative as commander to be the first to listen to those precious new tales. Either way, I soon came to think that this assignment might not be as dreadful as I had thought upon my departure from Castle Black.

The solitude and low population brought forth other comforts; things that hadn't crossed my mind as a recruit. Being so isolated and alone made men more appreciative of their brothers. Quarrels were rare, strong friendships formed quickly. We all knew it was just us against a hostile world of ice and snow. Then there was the food. Albeit rationed, it was more palatable than anything I had been served at Castle Black. The proximity to the Milkwater translated to a constant influx of fresh fish and crabs whereas the eastern castles often had to make do with preserves, stored for months in moldy barrels. Last but not least, the undermanned state of Westwatch afforded me the luxury of choosing my lodgings. Only two out of the barracks' five stories were in use, yet there were empty beds in most of the chambers.

I moved in with Barys who I had first met at the commander's table. A likeable lad, not quite old enough to be my father. In his youth, he had been 'one handsome devil' as he put it, and just happened to resemble Ser Ingwen Charlton – a knight I had never heard of, so I simply took Barys' word for it. The uncanny resemblance opened many purses and doors to the bedchambers of comely maidens, Barys told me, and that afforded him a quite comfortable life. Until the day Ser Ingwen was confronted with his supposed bastard, and the whole act quickly fell apart after that. His past as a charming swindler still served Barys well. His stories were more than popular among the black brothers, and that made him the closest thing to a minstrel we had.

Our shared chamber was also home to two more brothers. Alamor, a disgraced maester who had become well-versed in herbalism during his many years at the wall, occupied the bed underneath the room's only window. Felbert the Fair could have taken up two beds by himself. He was exceptionally tall and just as fat, but his imposing appearance hid a kind nature. I was surprised to find out that he, too, was a ranger. Due to the odd contrast between stature and temper, I would have taken him for a builder, and when he told me about his true passion – cooking – I assumed he worked in the kitchens.

"I used to," he explained when I inquired. "But the commander needed rangers more than he needed cooks. I'm good with a cleaver. It's not that far from an axe. So I volunteered when the stewards and builders were asked to bolster the ranks of the rangers."

His docile disposition, as I learned later, was the very reason he had ended up at the Wall. Unlike many of our brothers, he had not broken the law. Felbert had simply been unlucky enough to encounter pranksters who took advantage of his desire to please. A wealthy merchant in White Harbor had taken him into service as a cook, but tales that lead to the Wall never have happy endings. Some young servants had convinced Felbert to start off with a big impression, which had resulted in him serving the lady's favorite peahen – roasted and stuffed – to his employers. Outraged by the new hire's perceived malice, they had him arrested and shipped off to the Wall.

All things considered, I couldn't complain. On the contrary. I was grateful the Lord Commander had sent me to Westwatch. Yes, the weather was harsh and the work was exhausting, but when I sat in the great hall with my brothers at night, I couldn't think of a place I'd rather have been. Over the coming months, I thought less and less back to my youth in Mole's Town. The tunnel urchin had become a true man of the Night's Watch, and Westwatch-by-the-Bridge had become his true home.

﴾ _____________________________________________________________________________________ ﴿

The curiosity my arrival had stirred up soon petered out. My face became familiar, once riveting tales were no longer new and exciting, and drab monotony slowly returned to the Watch's westernmost castle. The daily routine was as demanding as dull. At night we played the same dice games and racked our brains to put a new spin on the same trite stories. Commander Stone still held out hope that Castle Black would send him more rangers, and we all hoped with him – if only for the sake of a diversion from our boredom.

It was not the Lord Commander who answered our prayers, nor were it the gods, old or new. It was Paviel, the fur trader from Bear Island. Every few months, he sailed his little barge to our remote castle. Along with salt, flour, and wine – which Paviel traded for our wolf furs - his visits also brought gossip that took our minds off the dull routine, if only for a short while. This time, however, he brought more than that. A warning Commander Stone had dreaded for months. He had seen torches in the distance along the banks of the Milkwater, Paviel told him, and the icy winds had carried murmurs and whispering voices. Being no fool, he had steered his barge away from such sightings instead of investigating, but we needed no further description to know what it meant.

Wildlings. Raiding parties had gathered in the Gorge for as long as the Wall existed to slip past the vigiliant eyes of the Night's Watch. It had only been a matter of time before our lookouts would spot them this winter. Storms had severely limited our sight in recent weeks. Most nights, it had been futile to dispatch rangers to the Bridge of Skulls; the slippery stones made it more likely to lose men and precious far eyes than find traces of raiders. That Paviel had seen signs of wildlings while we were temporarily blinded was a fortuitous boon. We'd have time to scout out their numbers and devise a plan before the raiders knew they had caught our attention.

A party of rangers would descend into the Gorge to assess the situation, Commander Stone announced after Paviel had concluded his report. Despite the dangers that awaited, I volunteered for the task right away. To prove myself to my brothers, I said. As the newest and youngest among them, I had to show them what I was made of. The commander took me up on my offer. He called my courage and initiative 'admirable', but I believe he knew that I was simply excited for my first venture to the wild lands north of the Wall.


	2. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very mild warning for minor mention of 'canon-typical dark themes'. Really doesn't feel tag-worthy, so I put it here.

"What are you doing here so early in the morning?" I looked up from my backpack when Felbert entered the armory. I hadn't expected to see anyone at this early hour, least of all him. The anticipation for my first ranging had woken me before sunrise, therefore I had quietly snuck out of the barracks to prepare our equipment. "Get back to bed! You'll be glad for every hour you slept during the night shift."

"I'm not on night shift." Felbert stomped the snow off his boots and strode toward the weapon rack on the far wall. "I'm going with you."

Stumped, I watched him inspect the row of axes and hatchets, and waited to be told that this was a joke. Why would he have asked to join this ranging? Commander Stone certainly had no shortage of men this time. He likely had more offers than a small scouting group needed as most rangers burned to finally get out of the walls. Felbert, on the other hand, was most comfortable inside the castle. At best, he accompanied the woodcutters and the fishermen to nearby groves and lakes. And yet he was here now, carefully picking a weapon for our foray into the Gorge. "Why?" I plainly asked after a while. "Did the tedium finally get to you?"

Felbert took an axe from the rack, then turned around to me with a shrug. "Not yet, no. But it would if I stayed here." He came over to help me with the furs and tent pieces I was about to store in my backpack. "You don't know true tedium if you've never been stuck with Alamor as your only companion." He rolled his eyes. "Whenever Barys is gone, Alamor thinks he's the lord of our room and constantly reminds me to be quiet. 'Shh, I'm reading. Shh, I'm studying this dried piece of lichen. Shh, I'm observing the changes in this stupid leaf when I sprinkle it with hot water.' All day long, day in and day out."

"Ah." I still didn't get the impression that he was keen on going with us. "You merely chose the lesser of two evils."

"Wildlings don't scare me. Besides, it's only a scouting mission." Felbert straightened his back as if he was making an important announcement. "Even if we spot any wildings, they won't dare to come close to our party. Not when Godric Godslayer is with us."

"Godric will lead the party?" I blurted out. "Isn't Lynnifer Grimm in charge of the ranging?"

I had hoped Godric would be the one to lead us, but Commander Stone had assigned Lynnifer Grimm to the task. As seasoned and rugged as he was, Lynnifer was also a sour braggard who rarely missed a chance to complain about his miserable life. He should have inherited instead of his feeble nephew, he told everyone who would listen. The 'incident' – by which he meant being caught smuggling gold and gemstones that didn't belong to him – hardly proved he was unfit to rule; he only had the prosperity of his house in mind. It was tiresome to listen to his carping again and again, and this prospect had been the one blemish on my excitement.

Godric, on the other hand, was held in high regard by every ranger at Westwatch. It wouldn't have been an overstatement to call him a 'living legend'. His reputation wasn't owed to the three decades he had spent at the Wall alone. He was everything a black brother aspired to be. Battle-hardened, honorable, jovial, and he had long made peace with his life in the Night's Watch – perhaps even before he had taken the black, some suspected. All I knew for certain was that Godric had been even younger than me when he said his vows. He rarely spoke about his past. "A noble of some sort", my black brothers said, but if I inquired which house he had belonged to, they only shrugged. Not even the commander knew the answer. Godric had already served at Westwatch for a decade when Commander Stone had come here after the death of his predecessor.

"He did," Felbert jolted me out of my awe-struck stupor. "I suppose Godric thought his newest brothers deserve an enjoyable first ranging. Lynnifer wouldn't make the best impression with his perpetual whining. He's still coming along, but at least he'll shut up about 'his' castle in Godric's presence." He shot me the proudest smile I had ever seen and leaned closer as if to reveal a great secret. "Godric himself asked me to join the party. 'If we finally get a diversion, we can as well pair it with good food', he said. How could I refuse him?"

This was the moment when the armory's swung open and hit the brick wall behind it with a loud thud. "Where is everyone?" The unabashed voice belonged to Wily Willy, the other fairly recent arrival. The lad was not much older than me, but that didn't deter him from acting like he possessed the wisdom of eons. "Didn't the commander say we'd leave by first light?" He didn't wait for an answer and went straight for the weapons rack to inspect the row holding broadswords and polearms.

"In the morning," I corrected the mistaken assumption. Willy wasn't the fastest arrow in the quiver and this was hardly the first time he had misunderstood instructions. "Although I hope we'll depart sooner rather than later. After being stuck in the castle for months, I'm more than ready to go."

"Tell me about it." Willy took a halberd and carefully weighted it in his hands, much to Felbert's irritation. "Came here three months before you, been sitting on my arse the entire time. I didn't join the Watch to twiddle my thumbs."

Willy hadn't 'joined' the Watch. He had been forced to take the black after a tremendous display of brazen folly. Fancying himself a hedge knight, he had frequented festivals and tourneys in the south, but he hadn't been especially knightly in his pursuits. If whispers from other southern brothers were to be believed, Willy's final crime was so stupid that he'd have been made a court jester if he hadn't chosen the Wall. Not only had he stolen the prized sword of a prince in broad daylight, no, Willy had tried to sell it back to its owner right away.

"What do you want with a halberd?" Felbert, docile as he was, couldn't help but remark upon Willy's choice of weapon. "We're not taking horses along. It's only a scouting mission." He pointedly looked to the bows on the rack. "The Gorge is swarming with squirrels and snow hares, and you're the best archer in the party."

Willy wrinkled his nose at this reasonable suggestion. "The Ironborn is skilled enough to handle the hunting," he declared with an air of importance. "But when it comes to defending the camp from snow bears or wolves, I'm the better man." I didn't know the Ironborn he referred to very well, but I was quite certain Willy wouldn't have said this in his presence.

"Take a spare bow for me then," I turned to Felbert to quench the quarrel, then shouldered my backpack and went to the door. "I meant to hone my archery skills anyway. Are we ready to go?"

﴾ _____________________________________________________________________________________ ﴿

On the first day, our march through the snow was as tiresome as it was uneventful, but nobody – except for Lynnifer Grimm – seemed to mind. The winter sun shone bright for the first time in weeks. Ugor Pyke, the taciturn Ironborn, had good luck on the hunt and afforded us a plentiful meal of roasted snow hares. This was an especially welcome change of pace as even the freshest fish and crabs taste trite after a while. We made good headway toward the Gorge, and when night fell Godric regaled us with his tales by the fire. I admit, I was awe-struck when he spoke of past rangings, forays into the Skirling Pass, and skirmishes with savage tribes on the banks of the Bay of Ice. Later that night, when I sat watch with Willy and his stupid halberd, I imagined myself in those situations. Would I have been as alert, as courageous, as crafty? No, not yet. I was too young and too green and still had too much to learn, but if I followed Godric's example, I'd be the best ranger I could become one day.

On the second day, the weather worsened and with it Lynnifer's mood. He had been displeased with losing his position as leader since our departure, but – as Felbert had predicted – he at least kept quiet about it. Instead, he complained about the wind and the light snowfall and made snide remarks about Willy's cumbersome weapon whenever Godric was out of earshot. We ignored it as best as we could, Willy more brazenly than the others. Inspired by one of Barys' tales, he kept surveying the group about their thoughts on various mundane topics, always and pointedly leaving Lynnifer out.

By the time we reached the Gorge the waves had somewhat calmed, thanks to Godric and Barys. They had had steered the conversation back to our mission and told us about previous rangings in the Gorge. After a while, Lynnifer chimed in with his own observations. Although he had clearly woken up on the wrong side of his fur, these were still valuable insights I could learn from.

We made camp in the early hours of evening. The staggering rock face of the Gorge provided shelter for our tents and the fire, and Ugor returned with a good yield from the nearby grove. While the others set up our tents, Barys and I scouted the surroundings for signs of wildlings.

"We'll probably have to advance into the Gorge for another three or four days before we catch glimpse of any wildlings," Godric said when we reported our findings – or lack thereof. "Paviel told us he counted eight or nine torches on the banks. Scouts, most likely. I expect the bulk of the raiders to be hiding in the caverns upstream, six days to the north. Seven, given the recent weather conditions. "

"If they have any wits at all, they'll stay in there." Lynnifer wrapped the fur around his shoulders, then sat down by the fire. "There's a storm coming from the west." He gave a brief nod to Ugor when he dropped some dead hares next to Felbert's cooking equipment, then turned back to Godric. "Might be even worse than the storms we had in recent weeks."

"There are always storms coming, my brother," Godric gave back with a wry smile. "It has never stopped the savages in the past, and it won't stop them now. However, a bad storm will slow them down. For the next few days, the worst we'll have to worry about are wolves and wayward snow bears."

As if Willy had only waited to be given a cue, he proudly pointed to his halberd. "Good thing I came prepared!" he declared. "I'll take the first watch. And I'll lend the halberd to whoever takes over after my shift. Not much you can do against bears with bows or daggers, but this..."

"You're dumber than a yard full of fresh snow," Lynnifer cut him off. "You've never even seen a snow bear. What would you know about fighting such beasts?" He lazily gestured to Felbert's axe, still sticking in a tree trunk a few steps away from the fire. "You want to make yourself useful? Go, cut some wood for the night."

"Seven Hells, you're of a mood lately." Barys abandoned his efforts to steady an awning and joined us by the fire. "Who pissed in your ale? We've got enough timber to erect a small fortress."

"Paviel did." Ugor's grumbled answer trickled into his shaggy, brown beard. "Said something about a storm hitting Greyshield. Did some damage to the port, or so he heard." He glared at Lynnifer from underneath bushy brows. "He's been in a sulk ever since Paviel mentioned it."

"Wouldn't you be upset?" Lynnifer almost shouted; apparently Ugor had hit the nail on its head. "That incompetent imbecile ruins everything! Had I inherited instead of my brother's dimwitted son, none of this would have happened! I wouldn't have to worry about my mother and sisters! But no, that stubborn goat of my brother decided his feeble boy is fit to rule and I'm not!"

"If you'd be such a good lord, maybe you shouldn't have sold those stolen gemstones." Willy shot him a triumphant grin, and even Ugor – who rarely even spoke – now audibly chuckled. "You wouldn't be stuck at the Wall if you hadn't, and not being here strikes me as a rather important part of lordship."

"I did what I did for the good of my house," Lynnifer grunted. "Everyone bends the rules a bit to that end. Had I succeeded, it would at least have made a difference for my people. But I'm not deluded enough to think you'd understand. You're here because you stole a fucking sword on a whim. You brought a fucking halberd to a ranging. You..."

"Leave the lad be and remember your vows," Godric firmly interjected, then paused and regarded Lynnifer for a moment. "We all make mistakes. Even you. You fell into a ditch during your first ranging. Barys and I had to dig you out; it took us almost an hour. We never held that clumsy lapse over your head because we knew you'd be more careful after that scare. So shut your trap now and let Willy learn from his mistakes just like you did."

﴾ _____________________________________________________________________________________ ﴿

Tempers calmed down after Godric's stern reminder, and the conversation moved into a more pleasant direction. Felbert received much praise for his hare roast and even more when he revealed that he brought spices to mull some of our wine.

The night grew colder and darker, but we didn't mind. We had eaten well, a delicious treat warmed us from inside, and the stories we shared lifted our spirits. As so often, Barys told the most hilarious tales from his youth. How he had attended Lord Harwick's wedding feast and eaten a whole roasted duck on a dare. How the king's cousin had introduced the supposed Ser Ingwen to no less than three eligible noble daughters during a tourney at Darry. How an insolent mummer had almost revealed Barys' disguise, and strangely found himself accused of stealing Lady Ryger's heirloom necklace just one day later. Ugor shared an anecdote of his own; something about a ship wreck, a tremendously large grouper, and Lord Kenning's salt wife. The spiced wine had gotten to our heads at that point, therefore I was not the only one who found the tale hard to follow. We laughed anyway, and even Lynnifer laughed with us, the previous quarrel with Willy seemingly long forgotten. Godric alone didn't indulge as much as the rest of the group. He nursed his wine and declined the refills Felbert offered with thanks - an observation I made, but merely duly noted. Somebody had to stay alert, I assumed; just of the burdens a commander had to carry.

"I'm curious..." Willy slurred the words when he leaned forward with an air of importance. "You..." He pointed at Ugor, then immediately pulled his hand back as he had almost held it into the fire. "You were captured during a raid on Bear Island. You..." The finger wandered to Lynnifer, passed him by, then landed on Barys. "...fooled all of the Riverlands into thinking you were a knight like myself." He gestured back and forth between Felbert and me. "You roasted some lady's prized poultry, and you, you're a fool. You came to the Wall of your own free will. But you..." His brow furrowed when his glassy stare found Godric. "I don't know why you're here. I know everyone's crime except yours. What..."

"Crime? I didn't commit a crime," Ugor grunted. "Not by the laws of my people."

Willy either ignored or didn't hear the muttered interjection. "What did you do that got you sent to the Wall?" he finished the question, still glaring at Godric.

"Killed a septa."

I almost spit out the wine when I heard Godric's answer. A man like him couldn't possibly have done something so heinous, could he? Of course I had heard about his fierce fights against savages and raiders, but I couldn't imagine he'd ever lay hands upon a woman. This had to be a joke, I decided. Godric was just pulling Willy's leg, made an outrageous claim to see if the greenhorn would believe it. However, nobody was laughing or even smirking when I glanced around. Willy looked just as stumped and puzzled as I felt, and I saw solemn respect in the eyes of the others.

"You must be jesting!" I burst out in confusion. "Why in the world would you do such a thing?"

"Did you think they call me 'Godslayer' for nothing?" Godric calmly gave back. The wry smile on his lips betrayed a lingering sadness, but no regret. "I was young and dumb and impulsive, that's why I did it." He gestured to the kettle with his mug, and Felbert scooped mulled wine into it without saying a word. "She was supposed to look after the children when my mother fell ill," Godric continued. "One day, a few months after her arrival, I caught her doing unspeakable things in my brother's chambers. Things nobody should ever do to a babe..." He broke off and emptied his mug in one go. "I should have told my father and let him handle the situation, but that's an older and wiser me saying so. Back then, I was fourteen and blind with rage. I grabbed a heavy vase from the mantle and made sure that woman would never ever do such things again."

I didn't know what to say. For months, I had assumed Godric had taken the black on his own volition because I simply couldn't imagine he had committed a crime. The confession had initially shocked me, but I could certainly understand his reasons after hearing his story. As terrible as his crime was, he had done it to protect his brother and I just couldn't condemn him for that.

Willy was either less shaken or less respectful, or perhaps it was both. "What did your father say when he found out?" he inquired, ignoring Godric's pensive demeanor. "Did he believe you? And what became of your brother? Does he remember what happened? Did you ever speak to him about it?"

"It's been so long ago," Godric replied with a resigned sigh. "Kin turned into strangers over the years, and I ended up here. That's all I can tell you. The Watch is all that matters to me now." He held his mug out to Felbert for another refill. "There are savages on both sides of the Wall. I suppose that's the moral of my story, if you were hoping for one." Judging by Willy's inquisitive expression he was not satisfied with this answer. However, before he could pose another question, Godric got up and peered into the darkness beyond our camp. "Did you hear that?" He beckoned Felbert to put the mug down on the ground and reached for his axe. "Might be a bear or a shadowcat out there. I better take a look, lest the beast bite your drunken arses."

I held Willy back when he tried to rise from his seat. He was swaying to and fro as he was, and since I hadn't heard a thing I assumed Godric was merely making up an excuse to get out of this uncomfortable conversation. "Let him handle it," I therefore told Willy, and Barys gave me a subtle nod in response. "He's right. We're too drunk to take our chances with wild beasts."

"You might have to," Godric said as he stepped over the fallen trunk he had sat on. "Stay watchful and keep your voices down until I come back."


	3. Act III

"I didn't mean to upset him!" Willy tried to get up again, but the wine still made him stumble before he got on his feet. "I didn't mean to be rude! I swear it by my honor as a knight!"

"It'll be fine," Barys said for the third or fourth time since Godric had gone toward the grove. "Godric doesn't carry grudges, at least not over vanities such as this. He's had this conversation with dozens of nosy whippersnapper like you over the years. I was one of them. You can take my word for it when I say it will be fine."

My eyes followed Godric's trail through the snow, then traced it back to his empty seat by the fire. The mulled wine in his cup had long gone cold, and the supply in Felbert's kettle was depleted. "He's been gone for quite a while though," I said. "Doesn't that worry you?"

"Perhaps we should go looking for him," Felbert suggested, but was immediately cut off by Lynnifer Grimm.

" _We_ certainly shouldn't." Lynnifer got up from his seat nonetheless. " _Somebody_ should. If Godric encountered something out there, the presence of greenhorns like you won't help him. You can barely see five steps ahead. Seasoned rangers have learned to rely on other senses. Barys." He gestured to him over the fire. "You watch these lads, make sure they stay put. Ugor, you're with me."

"He probably found tracks of wolves or bears," Barys said after Lynnifer had left our small camp with Ugor. "Nothing a man like him couldn't handle." It was meant to sound reassuring, but I heard a hint of doubt in Barys' voice.

"Wouldn't you have seen it?" Felbert said out loud what I thought. "You scouted that area while we set up the tents..."

"We were looking for signs of wildling presence," Barys gave back, but it still didn't sound all that convincing. "Abandoned tools or weapons, remains of camps or fires, that sort of thing. Beasts come and go out here, some only come out at night. Humans leave traces that provide reliable information." He hesitated. "Ritual sites, or a lack thereof, to determine which kind of savage we'll be dealing with. Paviel couldn't describe the figures he saw in detail. That's why Godric sent me out to scout." Again, he paused and took a deep breath. "I'm well-versed in the savage rites of the ice-river clans, our most frequent attackers. I can tell which tribe left which marking in the bark or slaughtered an animal in a certain way. We were looking for carvings caked with the blood of small game, or entrails arranged on the roots of old trees. Gives us an idea of the numbers we'll face, if it's one clan we'll be facing or if several banded together."

"We didn't find anything though." I exchanged a quizzical glance with Felbert. Whether Barys told the truth or merely tried to distract us, I couldn't say, but it had piqued my interest for the moment. "Does that mean there are no wildings marching toward Westwatch?"

"No, it means the Ghenna are coming." Barys poked our fire with a stick. "A sizeable clan from the western shores of the ice-rivers. The only one that doesn't leave behind any signs. On the bright side, they don't possess sophisticated weapons. They fight with sharp rocks and whatever they find on the way." The stick caught fire and Barys waved it to put it out. When the attempt didn't succeed, he simply tossed it into the flames and looked around for a new makeshift poker. "But where's a bright side, there's also a shadow. The Ghenna perform their bizarre rites after the battle, and it has never been a pretty sight, I can tell you that."

Willy appraisingly regarded him for a while. "Why is that? What do they do?" he asked since Barys didn't volunteer that information. When the answer came, I wished Willy had not inquired.

"'Ghenna' means something like 'leech' in the Old Tongue," Barys said with a shrug. "After battles, they descend upon the injured and dying like beasts to drink the warm blood from their still beating hearts."

Willy and I cringed at the description, Felbert grimaced and turned his head away. "That's disgusting," Willy got out, but he didn't get further.

"Godric!" Felbert did a double take and pointed in the northern direction. Our heads immediately spun around. "Where have you been? And where are Lynnifer and Ugor?"

Something struck me as strange about this. Godric's trail led to the grove west of our camp, and this was where Lynnifer had gone looking for him. North of us lay nothing but darkness, interspersed with outcroppings of snow-covered rocks along the banks of the murky Milkwater river. Why had he gone there? Why hadn't we seen him? Why had Felbert only noticed him when he had almost reached our camp? Were our eyes truly this unaccustomed to the night to have missed a man of his size?

Godric didn't react to Felbert's exclamation, but he came closer and sat down on his previous spot next to Barys. His expression was entirely blank when he stared into the fire, axe still in hand.

"Are you alright?" Barys got up and went behind Godric, probably to look for signs of injury or a fight. Willy reached for his halberd and stood up as well, peered into the dark distance in search of possible dangers. "Where have you been?" Barys tried again. "What have you found that drew you out of the forest?"

Still no reaction from Godric. There was no blood on the blade of his axe, I noticed, and his dagger still stuck in the tree trunk where he had left it after our meal. Nothing stood out about his attire either. His black cloak wasn't torn, his vambraces had no scratches that hadn't been there before.

Felbert exchanged a bewildered glance with me, then he leaned forward and picked up the mug of mulled wine. "Here. It's cold now, but the flavor hasn't faded." He held it under Godric's nose. It felt like an eternity until Godric reacted, but he did lift his arm and took the mug after a while. Then he just sat there again, silent, frozen in motion, making no move to drink from the wine.

"He doesn't appear to be injured," Barys concluded his inspection. There was no resistance when he took the axe from Godric's hand and put it aside. "Maybe Felbert is right," he said when he sat back down, evidently uncertain what to make of the situation. "Take a sip. Then tell us what happened."

To our relief, Godric reacted this time. He slowly brought the mug to his lips, drank a sip, then lowered his hand again just as slowly. At no point did he take his eyes off the fire, but to me it seemed as if he wasn't really looking at it. He looked through it, through me, through the Gorge's staggering rock face behind me, into some unknowable darkness far beyond Westwatch and the Wall. For a moment it seemed as if his eyes didn't reflect the flickering fire, and I couldn't entirely dismiss it as a trick of the light.

"Maybe they have an explanation." All eyes followed Willy's pointing halberd to the west. Lynnifer and Ugor had emerged from the fog, and they hastened their steps when they saw that Godric was with us. To my great relief, they were talking to one another, although they were too far to understand what was said.

"Didn't find anything that could have made noises in the grove." Lynnifer sheathed his blade and rubbed his hands above the fire, Ugor sat back down on his tree trunk and looked around for his mug. "I take it you didn't either?"

"Something's wrong with him," Felbert answered instead of Godric. "He's not talking. Hasn't said a word since he came back."

"He wasn't in the forest either," Barys added, more composed, but still visibly puzzled. "Maybe that's where he initially went, but he approached the camp from the north."

Lynnifer turned around and peered into the darkness with a doubtful expression. "Are you sure?" He studied Godric for a moment, then looked back to Barys. "There's nothing north of us for miles, not even trees, and the fog isn't as thick as it is near the forest. He'd have stood out like a sore thumb against the snow." He went closer to Godric and leaned down to him, but paused when he noticed the apathy in his eyes. "Godric? Where did you go?" Once again, there was no reaction, none at all. Bewildered, Lynnifer stepped over the trunk and knelt down next to Godric, then waved his hand between his empty eyes and the fire. "Talk to me, brother. Don't leave us in the dark. What's out there? What did you find? Are we in any danger?"

"If he won't tell us, we should take a look ourselves." Barys beckoned Ugor – who had just found his mug – to get up. "We'll follow his tracks north and see what's there." He nodded to Lynnifer. "Maybe you'll have more luck waking him from his stupor."

﴾ _____________________________________________________________________________________ ﴿

In their absence, Godric still hadn't said a word, and there had been no changes to his strange demeanor. We had tried everything we could think of, but he had neither reacted to Willy's apologies nor answered Lynnifer's questions. The most disconcerting part about it all was the mug. Godric kept drinking from it even when there was no wine left in it. Our kettle was empty, therefore Felbert had tried to pour him some ale. However, just when he had held the waterskin above the mug, Godric had lifted it to his lips as if he hadn't noticed what Felbert was doing. Being the bear of a man he was, Felbert was hard to ignore, yet Godric seemed to simply not see him. _Like a puppet_ , it struck me, and the thought made me shudder. _He moves when an unseen puppeter pulls his strings, not when it would be appropriate for any given situation._

"Have you found anything?" I almost stumbled on my words when Ugor and Barys returned from the windswept field of white. They were easy to see against the snow indeed, I realized in the back of my mind, even though they were farther away than Godric when we had spotted him. Still, they were close enough to have heard my urgent question and undecidedly shook their heads in response. Once they had reached us, their expression were even more confused than before.

"Nothing at all," Barys said with a shrug. "The tracks, they just end in the middle of nowhere. The place is well known to the rangers of Westwatch. We've passed through this area during many rangings, and it looks just the way it has always looked before. Nothing but snow and a few rock outcroppings, the tallest barely reaching my knees. Not even a wolf pup could hide behind them."

"It's possible the wind covered the tracks," Ugor added. "But if that's what happened, it must have been an impossibly precise gust. Here, the tracks are easy to see." His foot scraped a line into the mud next to our fire, then abruptly stopped. "There, only one step farther, the snow is untouched."

Lynnifer thought about the report for a moment and appraisingly regarded Godric from the side, watched him drink a sip from his empty mug. "It just doesn't make any sense," Lynnifer muttered under his breath and shook his head. "Sit down, sit down..." He absently gestured to Barys and Ugor, then straightened his back to compose himself. "We've done all we can for now," he said, addressing us all. "The storm renders our torches useless farther north, and I'm not going to send anyone out into the darkness tonight. We'll conduct a more thorough search tomorrow in daylight, and we'll all go together. Nobody is going to leave the camp until I say so, understood?"

﴾ _____________________________________________________________________________________ ﴿

Felbert and I were assigned for the first watch of the night. While the others were sleeping in the tents, we sat by the fire and kept our eyes and ears open. Under normal circumstances we'd have quietly chatted, but nothing was normal about this night in the Gorge, and we barely spoke. Some strange, unknown danger lurked out there, and across from us sat Godric like a frozen corpse.

We only saw him move once, very briefly, when he adjusted his hood. Lynnifer had taken the empty mug from his hand, and ever since Godric had stopped pretending to drink. I couldn't say whether this was better or worse. Moving his arm every now and then had at least proven that he wasn't dead. Now he sat there like a statue, and only the small clouds when he exhaled, blurred through the haze of the fire, let us know he was still alive. And yet it was impossible to ignore his presence. Although he was as silent as a grave and clearly paid us no attention, he made me uneasy. It felt as if someone – or something – was watching us through Godric's eyes, listening to our conversations through his ears, waiting for us out there in the storm and the darkness.

Shortly before Willy and Barys took over for the second watch, Godric's chin dropped to his chest, and we heard a muffled, sonorous snoring. At first, the sound it startled us, but once we realized where it came from, the unease and sensation of being observed somewhat faded. Maybe, I told myself, Godric only needed a good night's rest, and everything would be well in the morning.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. The tent lessened the cold and the storm's howling, but not the disturbing feeling, not the chill to my bones. Again and again, Godric drank from his empty mug before my inner eye. Again and again, previous conversations played out in my mind. _Are you sure? He'd have stood out like a sore thumb against the snow. Nothing at all. The tracks simply end in the middle of nowhere. Talk to me, brother. What did you find?_ At some point, exhaustion must have claimed me, but I can't have slept for more than a few hours. Even in my dream, Godric kept staring into an unknowable distance, and something stared back through his empty eyes.

﴾ _____________________________________________________________________________________ ﴿

A weak, pale sun peeked through puffy, lead-grey clouds when I crawled out of the tent. However, except for the absence of darkness, little had changed. Somebody had put one of our wolf furs around Godric's shoulders, but his eyes were open again and he had resumed his previous posture. Awake, alive, _present_ , and at the same time so far away. Felbert was stirring some sort of stew in his pot, Ugor and Lynnifer quietly sat by the fire, Barys and Willy were restoring a tent that had collapsed during the night.

When we gathered around the fire, my desperate hope that Godric would wake from his stupor after some rest was briefly reignited. He took the bowl Felbert handed to him, and he slowly yet steadily shoveled the stew into his mouth. Spurred by this, we tried to talk to him again, asked him questions, yet once again, we had hoped in vain. Had Willy not taken the empty bowl from his hand, I'm certain Godric would have kept eating from it, just like he had drank from the empty mug the night before.

After we had eaten our fill, we went to the spot where the tracks had suddenly ended. Barys' description couldn't have been more accurate. It was the middle of nowhere; a vast white plane scattered with rocks, and in the distance the icy Milkwater gurgled. No hiding spots for wildlings or beasts, no carverns or ditches or trees. We painstakingly freed the outcroppings from the snow, but all we found underneath was unremarkable rock. Barys asked Godric to retrace his own steps or at least show us which direction he had come from on his way back to the camp. Yet Godric just stood there and stared into the distance as if he wasn't even aware of our presence.

Lynnifer wanted to keep going, head deeper into the Gorge. Perhaps we'd find clues farther north, he insisted, and there was still a scouting mission we had to complete. I was grateful when Barys, easy-going as he usually was, excercised his authority as the more seasoned ranger and overturned Lynnifer's stubborn order. "We don't know what befell Godric, how or why it happened," Barys said. "The same thing could happen to any or, worse, all of us. How would we get back to Westwatch? How would we report to Commander Stone? He needs to know about this. If we don't come back, he might send search parties after us and thereby expose even more men to this danger. Godric is our only clue, our only hope to solve this puzzle. Alamor fancies himself a maester. Perhaps some of his herbs will wake Godric from his stupor, and he'll tell us what in the world we're dealing with here."

Thankfully, Lynnifer saw reason and didn't argue with Barys. We returned to our camp and gathered our supplies, then began the long march back to Westwatch.


	4. Act IV

Alamor tried every trick described in his tomes. Compresses of lichen. Concoctions brewed from mushrooms, herbs, and the bark of certain trees. He made Godric inhale the smoke of incense, fed him all sorts of medicinal broths. He ordered hot baths, rubbed various oils and oinments onto his temples, applied leeches to drain the haze from his thoughts. All to no avail. When Alamor reached his wit's end, Godric's disconcerting state hadn't changed.

Commander Stone listened to our reports again and again, asked questions, rephrased them, challenged us to think things through from a different perspective. What, exactly, had Godric said before leaving? Were we certain that we hadn't heard the noises he had claimed to hear? Was it possible that he had touched something poisonous in the grove; something Alamor might not be familiar with, something that might have pierced Godric's gloves? When we traced his steps to the north, was there no spark of recognition in his eyes? Did he not glance or turn his head in another direction upon the request to show us where he had been? We answered, again and again, but there were no new insights to be found in our recollection.

The Ghenna came two weeks later; fearsome raiders from the banks of the ice rivers. We stood our ground and fought the savages back to their frozen wildlands. My first battle, my first triumph, but it felt hollow to me. Even when my hammer split the skull of a Ghenna warrior, my thoughts were with Godric and what he might have seen. At times, amidst the battle, I looked around for empty eyes in those painted faces. The savages had passed through the same area, had they not? Maybe they had encountered the same unseen terror, and maybe, just maybe, they knew more than we did about it. Yet wherever I looked, the eyes of my foes were wild and lively and sparkling with thirst for blood.

Other tribes challenged us in the same winter, and many more came in the following years. We stood against the Iceborn; fierce half-giants clad in fish skin attire, their faces obscured by strange, eyeless masks. We drove back the Grige; collectors of teeth, ears, and fingers, and the Horned Men who hurled incomprehensible curses and the shrunken heads of their captives at us. Twice, we even engaged the Ibin, the most remote of the ice-river clans; grotesquely scarred warriors who branded their faces with markings to ward off the wrath of dark gods. We, the sworn brothers of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, were the shields that guarded the realms of men against the onslaught from their savage world. We fought and died with honor; some with more, others with less, but in the end we all did our duty and little else matters.

﴾ _____________________________________________________________________________________ ﴿

Nobody spoke much about what had happened that night in the Gorge. If new recruits came to Westwatch, it often took months before somebody told them our story, and it was rarely one of the rangers who had lived through it. In this uneasy silence, the party slowly drifted apart. My brothers became strangers over the years, just another few sullen faces I saw in the yard.

Ugor had never spoken much in the first place. He kept to himself as usual and carried out his orders without question. Men who had known him longer than me said he had become crankier, _darker_ , that his mind had been warped. During shifts he wouldn't speak for hours and act like he was alone on his guard post. Then, unprompted, he muttered clandestine warnings about things that lurked in the dark to an empty spot by the fire. Four years after our return from the Gorge a snow bear mauled him near the mouth of the Milkwater. We gave his body – or what was left of it – to the black waters of the Bay of Ice. Nobody was too familiar with the customs of his people, therefore we didn't know if we properly performed the last rites.

Wily Willy, the talktative big-mouth, became notably more withdrawn. At first, he came to me often, and we spent many nights by the hearth, trying to make sense of what had happened to Godric. Willy never said it out loud, but I knew he felt guilty deep down inside. It had been his prying that had made Godric leave the camp, and no matter how often I subtly assured him that it wasn't his fault, Willy wouldn't let himself live it down. After a year of frequent visits and shared watch shifts, he stopped seeking me out. Instead, he mingled with a group of newly arrived brothers from Castle Black. Perhaps new faces would bring enough distraction to unburden his heart, I thought, therefore I let him be, let him forge his new friendships. His watch ended sixteen years ago, during a scouting mission north of the Wall, when he sacrificed himself to allow his party to escape a band of Iceborn raiders. He may not have been a real knight in life as he always claimed, but he sure died like one, and that should be commended.

Lynnifer said it was best to let bygones be bygones. All things considered, he seemed the least troubled by the events or Godric's unsettling behavior. Although Lynnifer didn't volunteer for rangings to the Gorge, he went without protest or hesitation when he was chosen. Even when we were assigned to the same party, the subject of Godric never came up. Instead, Lynnifer kept ranting about his brother's bad choices, his nephew's inability to rule, and the woeful state of affairs at Greyshield as if nothing had happened. It must have been thirteen or fourteen years ago when he requested to be reassigned to Icemark. I don't know what prompted it, only that Commander Stone gave his permission. Lynnifer left Westwatch in the coming spring, and I have not heard from him ever since.

Barys escaped into merrier tales from his past, ever more distant to the shell of a man he had become. When he told his stories, the brothers still cheered and guffawed, but when I listened closely, I couldn't help but notice that the passion, the fire, the laughter in Barys' eyes was no longer there. Still, when I listened to him in the great hall, surrounded by brothers, I was sometimes able to forget the lingering sorrows. His passing was the hardest on me. A ranger's life is demanding and filled with peril, I know that, but Barys' death came unexpected nonetheless. It wasn't one of the savages he had studied that got him in the end. During a ranging to the Skirling Pass, an avalanche buried him and his party. Felbert, due to his sheer size – and padding – was the only one found alive when rescue arrived.

Felbert, the poor gentle giant. He lost an arm to frostbite after days under the snow. As gruesome as the injury was, maybe to him it was a blessing in disguise. Despite all the hurdles and hardships life had thrown in his way, he finally found a place to pursue his true passion. Commander Stone reassigned him to the stewards, and Felbert now works in the kitchen. Some days he even seems happy between his pots, pans, and kettles. Other days, he can't hide the sadness in his eyes. He claims to have lost his memory when the avalanche hit him, but I believe he remembers all too well. When Godric wouldn't leave his chamber for weeks at a time, it was Felbert who brought him soups and stews and sat by his bedside.

Felbert's reassignment was Coryn Stone's last decision as commander of Westwatch. After thirty-two years of good service to the Night's Watch, he passed away in his sleep at the ripe age of sixty-three. I was elected as his successor, and I accepted the appointment with a heavy heart. Maybe I should have stayed in Mole's Town and taken my chances with the beast of winter, I thought. Maybe I'd have been spared from such sorrow if I had never found and lost kinship and a sense of belonging at Westwatch-by-the-Bridge. A man couldn't mourn what he had never known, could he? But there was no point in regretting choices I hadn't made years ago. Yes, I could have declined the office. But I didn't. I had chosen the Watch, and I stood by my decision.

﴾ _____________________________________________________________________________________ ﴿

What became of Godric Godslayer, you might wonder. What happened to him that night in the Gorge? I wish I could tell you. Alamor kept trying to find a cure for as long as he lived. He even wrote a letter to the Citadel in Oldtown, asking his former peers for consultation, but no raven ever brought a response. At one point, Paviel accompanied a proper maester from Bear Island to us, but although the man struck me as competent, he couldn't help either. Short summers and long winters went by; rangers ventured into the Gorge and returned without answers.

Godric stared into the distance year in and year out, a silent witness to the passing of seasons. Some days he ate, even followed simple instructions. Swept the yard or the great hall. Stoically stood atop the battlements, not moving an inch all through his watch shift. As he grew older, he rarely left his small chamber in the western tower anymore. I had him moved there – for his comfort, and as to not disturb the brothers housed in the barracks. I did not assign a steward to him, instead I myself visited him whenever my duties permitted. Spoke to him about the goings-on at Westwatch, although I had long accepted that he didn't listen to me. Brought him food and ale from the kitchen, but I never stuck around long enough to see him eat from an empty bowl.

Last night Godric passed away, and with him died any hope of finding answers. It was the strangest sensation that woke me at night and made me walk to his chambers. Only when I looked down into the wide, empty eyes of his corpse, I understood that I had become keenly aware of the _absence_ of a sensation. For the first time since our party had returned from the Gorge so long ago, I didn't feel watched, didn't sense a strange presence far behind Godric's eyes. Whatever had possessed him had finally left his body, but I knew it would forever cast its shadow over me.

The pyre has been prepared in the courtyard. By nightfall, we will give his ashes to the northwind. One day soon, Godric Godslayer will be forgotten by his brothers. I'll be the only one left who remembers that fateful night; that something beyond my comprehension is out there. Life will go on at Westwatch-by-the-Bridge. Savage raiders will come and go as they always have, and I will pray to every god I know whenever I must send my valiant rangers into the Gorge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My main inspiration for this was Lovecraft's 'The Colour out of Space' - something unknown, unknowable, utterly alien; an inexplicable terror that strikes at random. I didn't tag it like I did with some other Lovecraft inspirations because it would probably have been a major spoiler, so I leave it here.
> 
> Next up in this series will be 'The Hunger of Pendric Hall' which I'll start writing in March. The story is set in the Westerlands, as usual long before canon, and as gothic as it gets, complete with dark and stormy nights. Inspirations include Darkest Dungeon, a real life haunted castle, and the Lovecraft story 'The Rats in the Walls' (no unfortunate pet names will appear tho). ETA first chapter: mid/late March.


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